


Four Kisses

by Lyledebeast



Series: Allan and Guy [4]
Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eventual Romance, First Kiss, Forehead Kisses, Huddling For Warmth, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Relationship, Resolved Sexual Tension, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, allan plays the harp, attempted prostitution, guy sings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:29:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13613406
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyledebeast/pseuds/Lyledebeast
Summary: Some snippets from Allan and Guy's life in continental Europe after Marian frees them from King Richard's dungeons at the end of Allan Goes Off





	1. The Villa

**Author's Note:**

  * For [xandri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/xandri/gifts).



The first time Allan had heard Guy sing, he had almost fallen off of the wall he was sitting on.  They had taken up with a small group of Italian minstrels for a few nights after Allan had attempted to rob one of them.  The man had offered him harp lessons in exchange for pickpocketing lessons, and when his friend had left Florence for the season, he had left his harp with Allan.

“With what you’ve taught me I can get another soon!” he had insisted.  Allan was not so confident.  He had been a fair mandolin player at one time, but that was years ago, and he had grown rather rusty. But his pride was not such that he would not risk some embarrassment if it meant a few coins gotten in an honest fashion for a change.

He had tried to get Guy to join him in a bawdy tavern ballad, but he had put him off, saying that he did not know any English songs.  When Allan suggested he might learn one or two, the look Guy had given him was enough to make him drop the subject.

Then one night, Allan had talked him into going to the Piazza del mercato with him.  Carnival season had just begun, and he had it on the good authority of the local riff raff that it would be crowded.  They were right about the crowd, but unfortunately it was on the wrong side of the piazza.  Allan could hear the minstrels who had drawn just well enough to know that they were French.  He was just about to put down his harp in frustration when Guy picked up the chorus.  His voice was soft and uncertain at first, but as the song went on it grew into a rich, sonorous baritone.

It wasn’t until the song ended that he noticed Allan staring at him, and a blush arose on his cheeks.

“I . . . I had no idea you could do that, Guy,” Allan said, awestruck.

Guy’s blush darkened.  “Well, I’m as surprised as you are.”

“I doubt that, Giz,” he replied with a snort, ignoring the glare Guy gave him at the use of the nickname.

Allan had started calling him that to annoy him when they worked for the sheriff.  That seemed a lifetime ago, but it still slipped out sometimes.  “Gisborne” was too cold and distant, but “Guy” was  . . .  It was hard to put his finger on what exactly bothered him about it.  Perhaps it was the way Marian could so seamlessly move from calling him “Guy” to his face to “Gisborne” to the gang.  In all the time he observed her, she had never made a mistake once. 

He wanted to call Guy something altogether different. Still, “Guy” was what his partner preferred, and so he made an effort.

“It’s been so long since I’ve sang anything.  There . . . hasn’t been any occasion recently,” Guy explained.

Allan nodded.  “Well, I know one thing.”

Guy glanced at him.

“You’re going to be doing the singing in our merry band of two from now on.  


* * *

It had taken a few evenings of hiding behind walls while the French minstrels practiced, but Allan was as persistent as he was talented.  He had always been able to pick up tunes quickly; he joked that it was the only legal skill he possessed.  Indeed, since getting his harp he had been the happiest he could remember.  It felt like they were finally making progress, and the “they” was the most important part of that. 

Guy was adept enough at finding marks with fat pockets for Allan to rob, but he was keenly aware that it was Allan who did most of the work, and though he said nothing, Allan could also see that it weighed on him.  How often the sheriff had told him that he was useless, and he wondered if it wasn’t that voice that Guy still heard even when he reassured him.  Now, at last, there was something they could do together.

Guy practiced his craft with a seriousness that impressed Allan.  He would say that Guy enjoyed it as much as he did his harp playing if the songs he sang didn’t sound so bloody sad.  Allan could not understand a word of them, and so much the better.  It might be difficult play the harp and cry at the same time.

Their first night in public was even more successful than Allan had imagined, and the next night even better.  The bowl had been full of coins by the time they left the piazza to seek shelter. Then on the third night, she had come to hear them.

At first, she had stayed in her carriage, one of the most ornate Allan had ever seen.  It made the one Vaisey had used look shabby in comparison.  I was only after the carnival-goers on food had paid and departed that she emerged: a tall blonde woman lavishly dressed in black.

“Tu es aussi belle que ta voix,” she purred to Guy as she approached, looking past Allan as though he was invisible.

Guy bowed deeply, but Allan could detect the tiniest trace of a smirk as he peered up at her.

* * *

She was a French countess, a widow of the crusades who had come to Florence for the carnival season. All of this Guy had told him on his way to the baths to prepare to see her again that evening.

“But why do you need a bath for that?” Allan asked, bewildered.

Guy gave him only a raised eyebrow in answer.

When he understood, his mouth fell open in spite of himself.  He could only stare at Guy for a moment as his stomach turned a summersault.  Why would he even consider that?

“But . . . Guy.” He had no idea how to end the sentence.  Of course Guy could do as he pleased; he had made that clear from the beginning.  Allan had no business objecting to his choices, so of course he would keep his mouth shut.  Of course Guy could go to bed with . . . whomever he wanted to.

“It’s alright, Allan,” Guy assured him.  “It won’t the first time I’ve . . . comforted a widow.  When I was in London . . .”

“Yeah, when you were with Vaisey!” Allan blurted, surprising himself as much as Guy.  “That was different, he didn’t . . . you . . . you don’t have to do this, Guy,” he finished weakly.

Guy watched him, pressing his lips together in consternation.  “Allan,” he began gently, as though he was trying to calm a spooked horse, “don’t you want to sleep in a bed tonight?”

Allan blinked at him, his mouth falling open once more.  “What? What has any of this got to do with me?”

“Well, I told Lady Marguerite that I had a partner and asked if she might be able to accommodate him, and she said there is a spare room at her villa.”

Allan dropped his eyes, thinking the proposition through. A thought occurred to him that made him look up again, hopeful.

“Are you sure she wants to sleep with you? Maybe she just wants us to . . .”

Guy’s mouth turned down into a scowl.  “I know when someone is attracted to me, Allan,” he snapped.

“Whoa, steady Guy,” Allan cried, raising his hands in supplication.  “I don’t doubt it.”

Do you, Giz? he thought to himself silently. Do you really?

“What about you?” he asked, trying to change the subject.  “Are you attracted to her?”

Guy looked at him, his face softer now, and shrugged.

“I don’t know.  But, it will be nice to have a bedmate who isn’t you for a change.”

It hurt more than it should.  Allan forced himself to laugh.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind a break form your snoring, I can promise you that! But really, Guy, is it worth it?”

Guy glanced away. “She’s attractive enough, I suppose,” he answered.  “Not that it really matters.”  

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter?” Allan asked.  His stomach still felt funny, as though he had drunk some bad wine.

Guy’s eyes fell to his hands.  “Well, that’s not the point.  I’m doing this for . . . we talked about getting out of Florence.  That will take more money than we have.”

Allan’s heart sank.  “We’ll get it, Guy,” he said softly, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “It will take time, but look how well we’ve done these past few nights?  If we just save . . .”

Guy stood, and Allan’s hand dropped from his shoulder.  “I want to do more,” he said.  “Aren’t . . . aren’t you tired of pulling in all of our money yourself?” He wasn’t angry, Allan realized.  But there was a pleading quality to his voice.

“It isn’t like that, Guy.  You know it isn’t,” Allan insisted, standing up to face him.  “Look, we’ll go to the villa if that’s what you want, but please don’t think you’ve got to do anything you don’t want to do.”

* * *

The darker it grew outside, the more anxious Allan became.  Guy had come back from the baths an hour later, smelling fresh enough to make Allan self-conscious about his own stench in a way he had not been until that moment.  Lady Marguerite must have wanted Guy badly if she was willing to let him befoul her guest room.

It was a small comfort.

They made the walk to the villa in almost complete silence; for Allan’s part, he simply knew he had nothing to say that Guy would want to hear.  He had made up his mind, but Allan could tell that he was nervous.  He made three wrong turns, and Allan had to call out to him to get him back on the right path.  Each time he regretted it, but he knew that delay would not make the night any more pleasant.

When they arrived, the Italian steward looked them over with disdain, his eye lingering on Allan.  But when Guy explained who he was in his halting Italian, the man let them in. They stopped first at the guest room, and Guy bade Allan goodnight with a smirk and nod before following the steward on his way.

Allan lay down on the bed and sighed up at the ceiling.  The very comfort of it made it unpleasantly foreign. The covers were soft but there was a chill in the room that made him reluctant to undress.  Since the autumn had settled in, he and Guy had been sleeping closer and closer together. Sometimes he would wake up to find Guy’s arms around him, or his around Guy.  If Guy were as surprised by this as he was, he kept it to himself; they never spoke about it. But lying on the bed alone, Allan found that he could do nothing but worry about his partner.  Was he enjoying himself? Would the woman care about his comfort and pleasure, or was he only there to serve her? What if she liked him so much that she wanted to keep him with her, and what would Allan do then?

Only a few hours later, his reverie was interrupted by a commotion outside.  Suddenly, the door to his room flew open, and three men stomped in heavily.

“Alzarsi” one of them roared. “Mettiti in piedi!”  The others dragged Allan out of the room, down the long hallway, and dumped him unceremoniously out the front door.

“Get your hands off me!” he heard Guy shout behind him, doubtlessly not for the first time.

As the door slammed behind them, Allan struggled to his feet.  “At least I didn’t get undressed,” the thought.  Looking down at Guy, still on his hands and knees on the ground, he saw that he had not been so lucky.  He was still wearing his breeches and held onto his cloak and shirt with a death grip, but both were soiled now.  His boots were gone.

“Are you alright, Guy?” Allan asked as he offered his hand.  “Guy?”

For a moment, it seemed as though he hadn’t heard him.  He was staring at the ground beneath him.  With a sigh, Guy lifted his head and reached up, letting Allan pull him to his feet.

“Did they hurt you?” Allan asked, growing even more concerned.  That Guy could stand was a good sign, but he might have other, less noticeable injuries.

He scoffed in reply.  “Oh, I’m fine.  Fine as far as you’re concerned, anyway.”

Allan stared at him in bewilderment. “What happened?”

Guy shook his head with a sardonic chuckle, looking down at his bare feet.

“Well . . . nothing good, as you can see.”

Allan could see that he would get no answers, and decided they had more pressing things to worry about.

“Alright, never mind about that now.  Let’s just find a place to sleep then.”

He took Guy gently by the shoulder, and he allowed himself to be led.  As they walked, Guy pulled his shirt back on, but when he put on the cloak as well, Allan saw that he had to wrap his arms around himself too.  As he watched, he saw that it was torn.  That bitch, he said to himself.  What could Guy have possibly done that would make her throw him out so violently without even giving him time to dress himself?

Fortunately, the night was dry, as cold as it was.  Soon Allan found a quiet, empty spot in an alley.  

“Let’s sleep here, Guy,” he suggested.  “We can go back to the usual place in the morning.” He hoped that his harp would still be where he had hidden it.

Guy said nothing, but when Allan pulled his cloak over his head, Guy took his off as well.  Allan reached to take it from him, ascertaining the damage.  It had torn up the back seam, easy enough to repair if one had a needle and thread.  That was an easier problem to solve than the boots.  They were the last bit of finery Guy had, the only thing left over from his life with the sheriff.  Even if Allan could steal enough to buy him new boots, or steal the boots themselves if they were lucky, they were likely to be far inferior.

Allan spread Guy’s torn cloak on the ground; they would deal with it tomorrow too.  “Come one, Guy,” he intreated as he stretched out on top of it.  “We can share my cloak for tonight.”

Guy hesitated for only a moment before lying down, to Allan’s surprise, facing him.  He lay his head on Allan’s shoulder as he pulled the whole cloak around them.  It was not until he was still himself that Allan could feel Guy shaking.  Not shivering, he thought; he was the one who had trouble with the cold. Usually, it was Guy who kept him warm.

“Let’s get you warm,” he said, and wrapped his arms around Guy, rubbing his back vigorously underneath the cloak.  To his surprise, Guy tightened an arm around his middle in response.

“I . . . couldn’t do it, Allan,” he muttered, so quietly that he could barely hear him.

“You couldn’t . . .” Allan felt his heartbeat quicken and hoped that Guy wouldn’t notice. “What couldn’t you?”

“I couldn’t do _it_ , Allan.  I couldn’t get hard.”

It was a good thing Guy could not see him, Allan thought as the corners of his mouth curled into a relieved smile.

Guy pressed on in spite of his silence.  “I thought it would be fine.  If I didn’t get . . . interested when the time came, I could just think about . . . but that did not work.”

Allan held him tighter.  Feeling bold, he lifted a hand up to cradle the back of Guy’s neck.  He knew what name he was thinking of in the silence of that pause.  No.  He imagined that wouldn’t work very well under these circumstances.

“It’s okay, Guy,” he cooed.  “You know I . . . don’t want you to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.  Ever.  You know that, right?”

Guy made a sound that was a half sigh, half sob and pressed his face against Allan’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Allan. I . . . know that I shouldn’t have tried it. I see that now.  I just wanted . . . I wanted to help you.”

It was barely a kiss, just a light brush of his lips against Guy’s forehead, and Allan didn’t realize he was doing it until it was too late.  Guy froze in his arms.

Allan swore inwardly.  What had he done?

But as soon as it had happened, the moment had passed.  Guy nestled against him, and Allan exhaled with relief, not caring this time if Guy noticed.

“You do plenty, Giz,” he murmured.  “It’s fine.  Just try to get some sleep.”

Guy spoke no more, but his shaking had stopped.  The one cloak was warmer than Allan could have hoped, and before long his eyelids were growing heavy.

It was not until just before he drifted off that he realized Guy had made no objection to his nickname this time.


	2. The River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day if you observe it! It's been a very busy . . . Ash Wednesday for me. A day devoted to the recognition of sin and mortality is a good day to write about Guy and Allan!

Allan had hoped that he would not have to see Guy in a bed again so soon. It occurred to him as he watched his sleeping partner that it was an odd thing to regret.  Sleeping in a proper bed was supposed to be a luxury, wasn’t it? It had certainly seemed so to him after all the time he had spent living in the forest.  But since he and Guy had been reunited, beds had never held any comfort.  Not for Guy, at least.

There had been the unfortunate incident with the French countess in Florence, then his long illness when they were working on the dairy farm near Milan.  He had barely had time to recover from that before they found themselves in their current situation. They had been crossing a river just west of Turin.  The river was swollen with snowmelt from the Alps, and Guy had been rightly nervous.  But Allan had reminded him that they would have to cross sooner or later, and they were running low on provisions.  He didn’t want to wait now, not when they were so close to France, did he?

He felt a stab of regret at how he had coaxed him.

They had found a ferry after a great deal searching, and the man had charged them an exorbitant amount.  He claimed the weather as a reason, and Allan could understand why.  Not only was the current faster than normal, but it was concealing a number of rocks.  Their belongings were securely tied down, but unfortunately, the same was not true for Guy. He had fallen overboard after the second collision.

Allan had jumped in after him without a thought, but he had plenty of thoughts once he was in the river.  What if the water was too fast? What if Guy was hurt? He wasn’t sure the ferryman would be that much help.

When he reached him, he had found Guy wide-eyed with terror.  He tried to speak, but Allan could not hear him over the rushing of the water.  As soon as he had grabbed hold of him the current had caught them both.  Allan could remember thinking what a ridiculous way it was to die even as he had begun screaming for help.

Guy stirred in his sleep and gave a soft groan of pain.  Allan held his breath for a moment, his heart pounding.  He had been struggling to come up with something to say to Guy, some kind of explanation, at the moment when he awoke from the healer’s draught, but so far he had nothing.  Luckily, Guy was still again. 

He didn’t know where the men had come from.  They were farmers; perhaps they had been sowing in a nearby field and were looking for a place to have lunch.  Once he was assured that Guy was out of danger, he would ask.  After all, it was their speed and compassion that had saved them.  After some angry shouting that he could barely understand, they had even convinced the ferryman to give him his money back. But Allan had been distraught, trying to speak to them in his broken Italian while Guy lay there motionless.

And then, there was what he had done as soon as Guy had opened his eyes and looked at him.

He would have to thank them, if he could get over his embarrassment. After all, he was only embarrassed that it had been witnessed by strangers.  Not that he was ashamed of what he had done, never that.  Well . . . maybe a little bit of that.  It would depend on what Guy thought, if he remembered it at all.

Allan was so deep in thought that he did not hear Sophia come in and only noticed her when she placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Il tuo amico, sta ancora dormendo?” she asked.

Allan jumped in surprise, and he thought he could see a hint of mirth playing around the woman’s aged eyes.

“S _ **ì**_ ,” Allan replied, thankful that the woman was content with a short answer.  He was so tired he wasn’t sure he could answer detailed questions in English.

“Bene!” she replied.  She had told him before that Guy just need to rest.  It would take a few days for his cracked ribs to heal well enough for them to be on their way again.

Sophia gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.  “Chiamami quando si sveglia.,” she said.  Allan noticed that she spoke slowly, letting him keep pace with her.  She was clearly used to conversation with people who spoke little Italian.  It was more good luck than Allan could have imagined, and he hoped his gratitude showed in his smile.

A half hour later, with Allan no closer to explanation, Guy’s eyes fluttered open.  He scanned the room, momentarily confused, before his eyes fell on Allan.  He murmured something Allan could barely hear, so he got up and moved closer.

“It’s alright, Guy.  I’m here.  Do you need something?”

“Did . . . did we get across the river?” he asked.

Allan heaved a sigh.  “Well . . . we’re out of the river.  That’s the important thing.”

As hurt as he was, Guy still had the energy to roll his eyes.  “You mean they pulled me out on the same side? Fuck, Allan! We have to cross it again?”

Allan could barely suppress a grin; Guy was clearly going to be fine.

“I had the same thought myself.   But listen, Giz, Sophia says that we can stay here until you feel better, and by then the river might be calmer.  And our friends can help us find a safer place to cross.”

“You can understand them well enough for that?”

Allan shrugged.  “I don’t know.  I’m hoping they might speak French, as close as we are.  Maybe you can give them a try.”

Guy’s considered that for a moment, but then brows knit in confusion again.  “Who’s Sophia?’

“We’re at her house,” Allan explained.  “She’s the mother of one of the men who pulled you out.  Lamberto, I think? Anyway, she’s a healer.”

Guy quirked an eyebrow. “Like that madwoman in Locksley? The one who escaped while the sheriff was dunking her?”

Allan threw back his head with a bark of laughter.  “We should be so lucky, Giz.  Matilda was the best healer in Nottingham.  Not that there was much competition.”

When he looked at Guy again, a soft smile was playing about his lips.

“You saved me.” He said it as though it were an indisputable fact.

Allan dropped his eyes, embarrassed anew.

“Hardly.  I would have drowned with you if Lamberto and his friends hadn’t seen us.”

“You tried to save me,” Guy amended.  Allan gave a shrug and a nod, accepting it, and for a moment they were both silent.

“You kissed me,” Guy added.  His voice was softer, but Allan heard him.  A blush rose on his cheeks.

“I did.”  He could not bear to look at him.

“What did Lamberto and his friends make of that?” Guy added, and Allan braved a glance at him.  He was still smiling.

Heartened, he answered.  “To tell you the truth, I think they were impressed.  Italians think we English are a cold people.”

Guy nodded in assent.  “That you are.”

“Hey! You’re half English too, Giz,” Allan cried in mock offense.

Guy gave a soft chuckle before he winced in pain. Allan reached towards him, and Guy took his hand.

“I suppose it’s my English half that makes it . . . hard to say what I feel.”

Allan felt his heart quicken.  What did that mean?

“Why did you . . . do that?” Guy asked.

Allan started to answer as though Guy was asking, again, why he stayed with him.  Why he had taken risks for him.  But something told him it was more than that.

“I was just . . . so relieved. I thought you were dead.”

Guy smiled again.  “So did I.”  Then, the smile was gone.  “You do . . . too much for me.  I don’t understand why.”

Allan knew what he was thinking of.  Bianca, back at the dairy farm.  Allan could have stayed as long as he wanted there. Forever.  Her parents had said as much.  But he would have had to stay alone; Guy would have had to go on without him.  And that was unacceptable.

He held Guy’s hand a little tighter.  “Don’t you?” he asked, his lips relaxing into a smile.

Guy dropped his eyes, saying nothing, but a blush rose on his cheeks, and Allan could feel his own growing hot.

“Listen,” he said, breaking the silence.  “Sophia told me to send for her when you woke up.  I think she wants to ask you some questions about how you’re feeling. I had better go and get her.”

“No,” Guy pleaded.  “Don’t leave!”

Allan felt a grin spread across his face.  “It’s okay, Giz.  I’ll be back.  And she’ll make you feel better. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

Guy’s cheeks darkened, and his gaze fell again.  Allan could barely hear him when he spoke, but he was no less eager to obey.

“Kiss me again.”


	3. The Campsite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The whole reason for the M rating is in this chapter. Enjoy, if that's your thing. If not, the sex begins after the asterisks.

It had been a beautiful day.  With Sophia’s help, Allan had finally coaxed Guy into crossing the river, the current grown easy and slow, and now they were on their way to France again.  While the sun was still high in the sky, they had come upon a stream and followed it to secluded spot away from the main road.  Guy had wanted to press on, but Allan had insisted.  Guy was still recovering from his injury, and it would not do to wear him out their first day back on the road.

They had been in the small house where Sophia lived with her son and daughter in law for a fortnight, and yet their new friends had been loath to see them go.  Sophia had practiced her French with Guy as she cared for his wounds, and he was glad of the chance to get into the habit of using his mother’s language again before his return to her country.  Allan had entertained Lamberto and his friends with his harp in the evenings when they came in from the fields, and they had even taught him a couple of new songs.  But as the weather grew warmer, Allan was eager for them to be on their way.  He had learned from experience that the longer they stayed in one place, the harder it was to leave.  Besides, he was anxious to have Guy to himself again.

Guy had not asked for another kiss since that afternoon when he had been so vulnerable, and Allan so anxious.  Allan supposed that might have been because he had not given him the chance to miss them; he kissed Guy at every opportunity.  He seemed to welcome it, even if Allan did get a bit carried away sometimes and leave him wincing at the pain in his side.  When that happened, Allan’s cheeks would flush with embarrassment and, muttering an apology, he would try to get up.  But Guy forbade him; he never wanted Allan out of his sight for long.

Now, as he prepared for bed, Allan longed for the return of those moments.  It seemed that being out of the comfortable house and back in the elements had made Guy nervous and distant again.  Though he supposed it could also be the fact that Allan had coaxed him into getting undressed and going for a swim.

His motives had been pure; at least, they had started out that way.  The water was warm from the sunlight, and they were sweaty from walking.  Sophia had recommended that Guy swim for exercise to gain strength, so it was a way for them to do many good things at once.  Once the idea occurred to him, Allan had started undressing himself, but it wasn’t until he saw Guy’s hesitation that he recalled the other thing it could mean.

“Come on, Giz,” he had urged.  “Once you’re in the water, you’ll feel much better.” He told himself that it was probably only Guy’s near drowning that made him wary.  At first it was true enough.  When he was waist deep, Guy relaxed, even laughing when Allan playfully splashed him.  But when they were lying on the bank a while later, drying on Allan’s blanket, his curiosity had gotten the better him. 

Guy was on his back, eyes closed in the sunlight.  Allan propped himself up on an elbow, looking down at him.  He had lost weight, first from his illness over the winter and then his recovery from the fall into the river, but he was still strong and well-built.  Allan recalled how his mouth had fallen open in awed shock the day he had gone to Locksley and Guy had undressed in front of him.  He had never seen anyone more beautiful, and he was still beautiful now.  But now he could reach out and touch him if he wanted to.  He was contemplating just that when Guy sat up.  The motion drew Allan’s gaze to his face, and he realized that Guy was staring at him, eyes wide in panic.  Allan glanced away, embarrassed at having been caught.  From the corner of his eye, movement caught has attention, and when he turned his head to look at Guy again, he saw that his groin was covered up with the blanket.

Allan could feel the heat creep from his cheeks to his ears and down his neck.  He hadn’t even been looking at Guy’s cock, but now he realized what he must be thinking.

He probably thinks that was the whole point, Allan realized.  Suddenly he could not wait to be elsewhere. He stood up, making for the stream.  “I’m going back in,” he announced, giving no invitation.  Guy made no move to join him, but just before he stepped into the water, he thought he heard a sigh from the bank behind him.

By the time he got out of the water again, the sun was starting to set, and it was getting cold.  Guy, fully dressed, was cooking one of the chickens Sophia had given them over the open fire.  He greeted Allan when he joined him, but all he wanted to talk about was how much longer it would take for the bird to cook, how far they had travelled that day, and how far they would need to travel tomorrow.  He made no mention of what happened on the bank, which surprised Allan little.  No doubt Guy just wanted to forget that it had happened. Allan wished he could be content with that, but it was no use.  He wanted to talk about it, to assure Guy that he hadn’t meant it the way it looked, but he lacked the courage.  I’ll just keep my distance for a few days, he thought to himself.  Let him come to me.

He was spreading his blanket, now dry from the fire, out on the ground at a respectful distance from Guy’s when he heard his name.

“Allan? What are you doing?”

He looked up, surprised.  “I’m . . . going to bed,” he replied.  What else would he be doing?

The tiniest smirk played about the corners of Guy’s mouth. “All the way over there?” he asked.

“I thought you wanted space,” Allan offered. 

The smirk disappeared, replaced by a worried frown.  “Why would you think that?”

Allan quirked an eyebrow suspiciously.  “Well . . . when we were on the bank you seemed . . . I don’t know . . .” He was beginning to doubt himself.  Perhaps he had read too much into it.  “You seemed uncomfortable.”

He was certain he heard him sigh then.  “I’m sorry, Allan.  I just . . . it wasn’t you.  I just . . . will you come over here?  Please?”

Allan got up, gathering his bedding, and crossed over to Guy.  It will be warmer by the fire anyway, he told himself.

Guy stretched out on side, watching Allan expectantly as he had when they shared the narrow mattress at Sophia’s house.  They had provided Allan with bedding on the floor, but as soon as they could hear soft snoring coming from the other rooms, Guy would make room for him and Allan would climb up.

“I don’t know what was the matter with me,” Guy explained.  “I just . . . saw you watching me and . . .”

“I know,” Allan interjected.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean it . . .”

Guy raised his fingers to Allan’s lips, silencing him as he dropped his eyes.  “I thought that . . . something was going to happen.  And I wanted it to.  It . . . excited me.  But then you didn’t do anything, and I thought maybe I mistook, but I was still . . . I didn’t want you to see.”

Allan’s eyes widened, and he was glad that Guy wasn’t looking at him as he spoke.  He was astounded by his own stupidity.  He had worried that he was too bold; not it appeared he had not been bold enough.

He slipped two fingers under Guy’s chin, gently lifting his head until their eyes met.

“Do you want something to happen now?”

Guy’s “yes” was barely audible, but it was enough for Allan as he brought their lips together.

* * *

At first, he had tried to keep the blanket over them, but it grew so stiflingly hot underneath that Allan threw it aside, hoping the darkness was sufficient for Guy’s comfort.

He had learned how self-conscious he was while helping him bathe at Sophia’s.  He had made a thoughtless comment about the hair on his chest, which used to be shaved smooth.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Guy had replied with a sigh.  “With the shape I’m in now, who is going to want to touch it?”

After that, how could Allan help himself? He recalled that Guy had been as surprised as he was by how sensitive his nipples were. How he had gasped the first time Allan’s fingers brushed over one and panted and moaned as he moved back and forth between them, licking and lightly pinching.  Finally, Guy had pulled him off by his hair, wheezing at the pain in his side.

Thankfully, he was better now.

Allan flicked his tongue over one tiny nub before taking it between his teeth, smiling as Guy’s hips bucked against him. Still, he would have expected him to be more demanding.  It was certainly how he’d imagined Guy back when he was living in the castle, lying awake at night with his hand on his cock, unable to sleep.  Guy would expect to have control, but Allan would deny it to him; it was as much a fantasy about power as lust.

But as he made his way down Guy’s body, spreading his thighs with his hands and kissing over the ridge of his groin, it seemed that all Guy’s efforts were focused on keeping still.  His hands were by his sides, probably clutching the blankets if the sounds he was making were anything to go by.  When Allan’s chin inadvertently brushed against his sack, Guy groaned and writhed, but he still made no effort to have the touch repeated.  Allan knew he was hard; he could feel the heat rising from him just above his face.  Any of the other men he’d fucked would have been begging by now, if they hadn’t already taken themselves in hand.  Guy’s patience was beginning to worry him.

He looked up for a moment. “Alright there, Giz?”

In the moonlight, he could see Guy raising his head with some effort, but could not make out his expression.  A hoarse “Yeah” was his only response. He reached up and rubbed his thumbs over Guy’s nipples again.  His head dropped back and he arched his back, pushing his chest against Allan’s hands, but he managed to hold his hips still.

Now it was Allan who was out of patience.  He lowered his hands, placing one on Guy’s hip and wrapping the other snugly around the base of his cock.  Guy cried out, losing control for a moment and bucking up.  Allan knew he would not last much longer.  Slowly he dragged his hand up, stopping just short of the tip.  Drops of pre come had already streaked his shaft, and when Allan twisted his hand another rolled down over it.  He lowered his head, pressing a light kiss to the center of Guy’s tip, getting  a choked moan in response.  He flicked his tongue over his frenulum once, then again, and Guy was coming.

When he collapsed back, sated, Allan crawled up and stretched out next to him.  Kissing Guy’s neck, he found it damp with more than just sweat.

“Guy?”

When he only sniffed in response, Allan cupped his cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb gently underneath his eye.  It was covered in tears.

“Oh no, Giz.  What did I do?” Allan cooed, panic beginning to rise in his chest.  He had tried so hard to be careful, and this was the result.

“It’s alright,” Guy answered, sniffing again.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  I just . . .” He paused, as though searching for the right words.  Then he reached for Allan’s shoulder, urging him to lie down and draping an arm across his chest when he complied. Guy held him close, laying his head on his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice even now.  “I didn’t mean to scare you.  I just . . . didn’t imagine it like that.”

“You didn’t?” Allan asked, smiling with relief.  At least he had not been alone in that.  “What did you think it would be like?” He had to admit, it was a relief that Guy had imagined it at all.

“I don’t know.  I just know that no one . . . no one else has ever . . .”

“What, Giz?” Allan asked with no idea what he was about to hear.  He wasn’t a virgin, surely? What about Annie? She didn’t seem the sort to lie about something like that.

“Taken care of me the way you did. They all just . . . went for my cock.”

Allan watched Guy in the darkness, wishing he could see his face more clearly.  A dark, uneasy feeling stole over him.  Not for the first time, it occurred to him that there had been sad things in Guy’s past besides his unrequited feelings for Marian.  “Well, some would say that’s the best way.  That’s where it all tends to end up anyway,” he said with a shrug, lest his silence make Guy anxious.

Guy glanced up at him.  “Is that what you say?” As he spoke, he slid his hand down Allan’s chest to rest on his belly.  Allan felt his cock begin to swell again, quite against his will.

“No!” he half-yelped, and Guy’s hand froze.  ‘I mean . . . I,” he stammered.  “Sometimes, yes.  But you don’t have to.”

He knew how Guy felt about doing his part, but he still hesitated.  Whatever they did tonight, Guy would have to live with tomorrow.  And so would he.

Guy pressed a kiss to his chest before sitting up and reaching to untie Allan’s laces.

“It’s alright.  I want to.”


End file.
